Dawn did not arrive without a fight.
It sliced the night with a dreary, ruthless light, tearing through the keep like a sword. The world was left bare and the mountains huddled under veils of mist after the storm had broken. Kaelith Keep did not wake—it braced.
Elaria felt it in every stone she walked across, in the weight of the air, in the silence of the pack as they gathered. No laughter echoed, no voices rose in casual greeting. Every wolf’s eyes were sharp, every breath held tight, as though the whole keep were a throat about to close.
The Council Circle had been prepared.
She had seen the circle used before: for blood oaths, for trials of dominance, for rituals old as the bones of the mountain itself. But never like this.
Never for the Rite of Purity.
The stone ring was blacken
